Natasha Sajé
I was treading on yellow primroses in their limestone beds.
I was eating langoustines and saffron fettuccine with my fingers.
I was learning not to smile at strangers.
I was jaywalking.
I was hanging out the window waiting for lightning to strike.
I was having tooth #12 drilled to death.
I was up to my elbows in buckwheat.
I was charmed.
I was pumicing my heels.
I was apologizing for my government.
I was lost in Reverdy.
I was listening to the sunset.
I was mispronouncing the names of my cousins.
I was shown the old slaughterhouse by some cats.
I was practicing being blind, cobblestones under my soles.
I was buying poisons whose labels I couldn’t read.
I was massaging my thumbs.
I was drinking liqueur made from the dead poet’s family recipe.
I was using the clock tower of St. Joseph’s to tell time.
I was allowing boiled dough to rise in my stomach.
I was making a list of famous syphilitics.
I was comparing egg yolks to pumpkins.
I was thinking about Flaubert putting in commas, then taking them out.
I was planning the next time I could travel here
and wrap solitude around me like cashmere.
–
Poem provided courtesy of the author.
